


offer your body as a burning building without fire escapes

by supernatasha



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Kitchen Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-15 06:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1294228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernatasha/pseuds/supernatasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal's fingers never falter their rhythm, though his attention is divided. He has a certain confidence here in his kitchen that Bev hasn't seen on him before, not in the field, nor in the lab. Completely in his element. His long strokes shaping the dough are nearly sensual, and for a moment Bev wonders if he ever has sex wearing just that apron, wonders what it would be like to have those hands on her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	offer your body as a burning building without fire escapes

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Tonight" by Andrea Gibson.

Will is an unnamed beast, a new variety of creature Beverly cannot remembering encountering before. She works in a lab, comforted by the scent of formaldehyde and sterile silence. This new beast unnerves her. His hands tremble but his eyes gleam with clarity in the dim light.

He paces in his little cell. She can hear unsteady mumbling in his gait, slurred tongues in the jerky movements of his arms. He needs her help. So Bev makes him a promise and he sighs, sighs that the world is lifting a weight from his shoulders, a murder from his name.

But it hasn't been lifted yet.

It's only made its way to Beverly's shoulders, and she stoops lower with every new piece of evidence she finds, a new Atlas.

 

It's late, Bev thinks. Too late to be making house calls, isn't it?

She isn't sure, stalling in her car, holding her hands up to the heat vent and staring at Hannibal's house. The hulking building with all lights turned off seems vaguely menacing, too sharp angles and somber brooding windows, darkness dripping down the eaves and off the paneling.

Did he live here alone?

She doesn't know why she's so reluctant to speak with him again. She gets along with Hannibal fine, but recently she'd found herself seeing signals that probably weren't there, a peculiar tension between them. But this needs to be done.

Working up her courage, Bev pulls the keys from the ignition and gets out of the car. An icy breeze chills her, finding its way into her jacket, and she leans into the cold's embrace. Standing under the frieze, Bev reaches out before she loses her nerve. She can't find the bell, eyes blurring in the freezing wind, so she knocks instead.

It takes a while for anything to happen, and Bev blows on her hands to keep them warm while she waits. When finally the door does open, Hannibal stands at the entrance. Surprisingly, he's not in one of his customary suits. Instead, he's wearing a white shirt with the top buttons open and a white apron.

She can feel her cheeks reddening, suddenly looking at herself through Hannibal's gaze: messy windswept hair, the same leather jacket she'd worn to the crime scene earlier in the day, chapped lips.

"Miss Katz. How wonderful to see you," he says in his carefully enunciated accent, tilting his head and studying her. Is that disappointment? No, it looks more like curiosity. "Is there something you needed to talk about?"

"Well, not so much needed as wanted," she answers.

He stands still for a moment, quiet, and she thinks he's going to turn her away. But then he gestures her in and says, "Come inside, please, and out of the cold."

She doesn't tell him she likes the cold, instead stepping past him into the heated foyer. His décor is minimal and surprisingly warm. She'd expected cold colors, blues and hues of beige, somehow something that would match his distant persona, his cultivated disaffect. But instead the hallway is well lit in cozy browns and elaborate gold wallpaper.

"You have a lovely home," she says, mostly out of manners than out of genuine interest.

His eyes are steel, cutting through her formalities with a polite, "But that is surely not why you have come, Miss Katz."

"Just call me Bev," she says, and Hannibal holds out his hand.

She stares at it for a moment, then realizes he's asking for her jacket. Unzipping, she glances up at him. His studious expression remains unblinking, strangely hypnotic. He hangs her coat on the rack, and she catches a glimpse of a smile as he turns back to her. There it is again – the tension. The current between them. Lurking. 

"This way," he directs her down the long hall, staying in step with her long strides. "I was just cooking. It would be my honor if you would join me for dinner."

"Oh, no thank you, I'm really not hungry," she answers.

For a moment, a frown flickers over his features, and she thinks he may have been offended. Maybe whatever culture he came from, turning down a meal was rude. But before she can correct her faux pas, he asks, "Then may I ask why I have the pleasure of your company?"

They round a corner and she finds herself in the kitchen, if such a refined room could be called that.

She takes it in, sleek gleaming metal, fluorescent ceiling lights, the faintest sound of strings and a glass of wine beside the sink, all modern chrome, and she thinks: _here_ , _this is what I expected._

Bev seats herself on one of the stools and he returns to his position at the counter where she'd presumably interrupted his task. Hannibal turns to face her as he kneads the dough, long fingers curling into a fist, his knuckles coming away dusted with flour.

"I was wondering if you'd answer a few questions about Will," she finally begins.

Hannibal nods. His fingers never falter their rhythm, though his attention is divided. He has a certain confidence here in his kitchen that Bev hasn't seen on him before. Completely in his element. His long strokes shaping the dough are nearly sensual, and for a moment Bev wonders if he ever has sex wearing just that apron, wonders what it would be like to have those hands on her.

She has to physically shake her head to get rid of the thoughts, returning back to work. "You took him to the Hobbs house, right? In Minnesota?"

"Yes, Beverl – Bev," he replies with a clumsy tongue, laced with uncertainty, as if the nickname she'd told him doesn't suit his tastes.

"So I'm trying to figure out what happened to Abigail's body. If her blood was found on the floor, it stands to reason she was murdered there, but no body's been recovered to date," Bev says, staring down at the tiled floor, thinking aloud as much as informing Hannibal of the situation – not that he didn't already know. "So I'm theorizing she's either been buried somewhere we still haven't checked, or that she's been disposed of in more intricate ways."

"Intricate…?" Hannibal asks, and Bev looks up to see he's stopped his work, his attention solely focused on her. He's _watching_ her, and Beverly licks her lips, loses her train of thought until Hannibal prompts, "What intricate ways are you thinking of?"

"We already know Hobbs 'honored' all his kills, so maybe the Copycat Killer—"

"Will Graham," Hannibal corrects calmly.

Frowning, Bev forces herself to repeat, "Will Graham tried to do the same."

Hannibal rolls the dough into a tight ball, placing it into a bowl and covering it. He leans back, away from the counter, and asks softly, "Do you think Will has used Abigail's body for sustenance?"

She doesn't think Will had used her body for anything, having promised Will she won't consider him guilty until she finds evidence, but it's a strange notion to consider, and she says, "You mean if Will _ate_ her?"

"We did find an ear Will had ingested, is it such a stretch to imagine—"

"Yes," Bev says firmly, not wanting to hear Hannibal say the whole sentence, not wanting it to corrupt her already tainted image of a friend. "Yes, it is."

There's a pause. Hannibal finishes cleaning the counter and wipes his hands on his apron, turns his back to Bev. He flicks open the tap and washes his hands, and Bev hates that she's here, loathes that she's investigating Will for murder, despises that Hannibal is suggesting Will would do such a thing.

"Sorry if I put you off your food," Bev mutters, getting up.

"Of course you did not," Hannibal answers over his shoulder as he dries his hands. He takes off his apron and hangs it up on a hook. "I'm afraid I have heard, and perhaps even subjected myself to, far worse theories than the one you have suggested."

"I'm probably not accomplishing much, but I'm just going over the details," Bev sighs and straightens. "Thank you, Hannibal. I'll show myself out."

She's barely taken a step forward when Hannibal calls, "Beverly," and she turns to see him striding toward her. "Don't go quite so quickly. I'm enjoying your company. Stay, please."

Bev blinks at the sudden distance Hannibal has covered between them, standing close to her, a hand hovering just over her waist tentatively. Bev holds her breath, and her eyes flick to Hannibal's lips, leaning into his touch.

He leans down and kisses her softly, a delicate graze. When he pulls away, his eyes are apprehensive, waiting for a response.

Reaching up, Beverly kisses him back, closing the rest of the space between them. A dull ache thrums through Bev, finding its way to her belly and suddenly it's too warm for her to be comfortable. Her heart drums loudly in her chest, and she grabs his collar, pulling him near.

Her fingers skim over the contours of his collar bones through the cotton, stopping at the first button over his sternum. Hannibal's hand on her back presses them closer together, and Bev works her way down every button without breaking their contact.

Under his shirt, Hannibal is lean, muscles rippling in his shoulders as he accommodates Bev's movements of undressing him sleeve by sleeve. She presses the flat of her palm against his chest, at the sprinkling of hair.

His lips are warm, his fingers cold at the hem of her shirt. He breaks away for a moment to pull the fabric up over her head. Bev shivers as her abdomen is exposed to the sudden chill of the air, but Hannibal moves forward so his body is flush against her, working his hand between them at the zipper of her pants until they drop around her legs and she steps out of them. Skin presses up against skin, and his lips come back down over Bev's mouth, catching her lower lip between sharp canines.

Hannibal strokes the sensitive skin of Bev's throat just below her ear. Abruptly, he buries his nose in the crook of her neck and inhales, a long drag that leaves Beverly confused and oddly even more aroused. He takes in another deep breath down the curve of her neck, pausing at the strap of her bra, blindly unclasping it at the back with a hand.

Taking the strap between his teeth delicately, Hannibal slides it down her shoulder. Bev can hear him still inhaling his way down her arm, kissing the inside of her wrist at the pulse point. He repeats the gesture with the other strap and Bev shivers.

The chill runs down her spine and Hannibal must notice, again drawing her to his heat so she can feel the hardness in his trousers. She takes a step back and finds her way blocked by the counter. Hannibal's hands slide down Bev's back to her waist. He lifts her and seats her on the counter so they're even.

He steps into the space between her legs, opening them further, laying Bev back against the cold steel of the counter, a relief to her feverish skin. Hannibal drags his tongue down her clavicle, leaving goosebumps rising on the underside of her breast, dipping into her navel so her blood quickens in her veins.

Getting to his knees, Hannibal slides Bev's underwear down, splaying his hands against her thighs. His mouth curves into the wet space between her legs, and Bev gasps at the first stroke of his tongue against her clit.

Hannibal's fingers dig into her hips, not strong enough to hurt, just enough to hold Bev in place as she squirms at the stimulation. His jaw scrapes at the skin inside her thigh, and every move leaves her clenching her muscles in anticipation.

He hums a sound that is self-satisfied, and it runs a current through Bev's body. She arches into the touch, grinding herself further down the counter. The earliest stirrings of her orgasm begin, muscles knotting and breath catching in her throat.

As pliant as the dough he'd been kneading earlier on the counter, as willing to be shaped. 

She comes against his mouth, eyes squeezed shut and body curling in pleasure on the counter, fingers clasping into fists. When she catches her breath and glances down, Hannibal sits back on his haunches, staring up at her with dark eyes like predator waiting to devour. He stands and leans over her, kissing her slick and long.

He parts and tells her in a hoarse voice, "I will return in just a moment."

Nodding, Bev takes the respite to calm her nerves, pressing the backs of her hot arms against the steel counter where it was still cool. Hannibal returns within the minute, and she realizes he had gone to retrieve a condom. 

Bev watches through parted lashes as Hannibal quickly unbuttons his trousers, nothing on underneath. With the light behind him, leaving hollows in his cheeks from those sharp cheekbones, Hannibal looks inhuman. Something more visceral.

Propping up on her elbows, Bev catches Hannibal's waist with long legs, bringing him closer, grinning when he looks surprised. She positions his erection and sits up to kiss him. Hannibal's hands at her lower back pull her closer, sliding into her in one move, and Bev groans at the sudden fullness. 

Hannibal tilts his face down, his forehead touching hers, and moves his hips gently. The pace he sets is slow, almost lazy. He keeps one hand on her back and the other tangles in her long hair. His fingers touching her scalp are cold. 

It takes Bev a few seconds to pick up the pace, to cant her waist up as he thrust in. She flattens a hand on the steel counter to keep her balance. Hannibal peers unflinchingly into her eyes as he fucks, and Bev again finds his expression one of a hunter sizing up prey. Steadying herself, Bev closes her eyes against the intense gaze. 

Their short staccato inhales are the only sound, and Bev realizes the music that had been playing when she arrived has stopped. Now there is just Hannibal and her, noises of the hungry. Her skin begins to tingle for the second time, and she realizes she is on the verge of coming a second time. 

Hannibal must be on his edge as well. His movements are more jerky, erratic and ill timed with Bev's, and his fingers are unyeilding on her back.

The familiar peak fills Bev once more with a high of nerves, and she moans as the orgasm sweeps through her. Flooding her senses, every nerve lit with flame.

Hannibal follows a moment later, sinking his chin down on her shoulder as he comes, breathing ragged. Bev wraps a hand around his bicep and pulls herself up to look at him.

"That was... amazing," Bev murmurs in the ensuing silence, and the smile Hannibal offers in return is wolfish, lips pulled up around teeth. Funny how he only smiled with his mouth closed until now.

Hannibal, for all his clumsy maneuvers around the lab and long lingering glances, is an incredible lover. Perhaps the best Beverly has ever had, she thinks in the hazy afterglow.

"Would you like to stay the night?" Hannibal asks unexpectedly. Under the bright lights, the patina of sweat on his body shines."We can have breakfast together before we begin the day."

Bev frowns, unsure if he was asking out of obligation or he really wanted her to. She'd had her fair share of uncomfortable morning-afters. But somehow, the idea of waking to hot coffee and breakfast in Hannibal's bed is... well, nice. 

"I'm starting to think this is all an elaborate ruse just so you can feed me some of your cooking," Bev laughs. 

Hannibal only raises an eyebrow in question.

Biting her lip, Bev considers. She has work to do at home, a few files she had planned to read for Will's defense, a report from last week's case she needed to write. But Hannibal has just had sex with her on his kitchen counter and she hasn't given in to a whim in what feels like years. Bev says at last, "Okay, yeah sure. I'll stay." 

**Author's Note:**

> \-- This is not an OTP of mine; it is not even just a P.  
> \-- I'm thankful the writing of this fic resulted in me googling "Mads Mikkelsen shirtless" and I highly recommend it to all of you.  
> \-- Beverly Katz is my favorite character and if she dies this season, I quit everything.  
> \-- Please do not have sex in kitchens, but if you do, please clean up after yourself before you use the kitchen for cooking purposes again. This has been a PSA.  
> \-- For future reference, please ship Beverly with Alana (and then link me to the fic).


End file.
